You Hate Everything about Me
by immortalpen
Summary: A collection of Charloe drabbles from Tumblr
1. Dancing on my own

**Dancing on my own**

*set right after Bass catches Charlie and Connor together, before the fight in New vegas

The music wound around her, pulling her limbs like a puppet into sinuous shapes. She watched the women around her, their fluid movements, their carefree abandon, their curved skin peeking from gaps in strange materials, bright colours grabbing her attention. She had never worn clothes like that. They were not clothes designed to blend in, to become faceless, and she had no need of them. Her life was not to dance with pretty boys, and drink sweet nothingness to forget the next day. Her life was to fight, to run, to kill... her life was only to survive.

She felt warm hands close around her hips, and jerked forward in surprise, her hand already slipping to her knife belt, before she felt a familiar voice brush against her ear.

"Relax, it's just me" Conner whispered into her hair, and she let the tension drain out her shoulders, while biting her lip to avoid the annoyance she felt at his presumptuous handling of her. True, she reminded herself, she had invited it, she had initiated, and now Bass Junior had ideas about their relationship, ones she would have to disabuse him off sooner rather than later. She stood stiffly as he caressed her hips, and tried to sway her into dancing against him.

What the hell, she thought, just this once. Just this once to be one of those girls, girls who laughed and joked, teased boys with mysterious smiles, and thought about which clothes might suit them best. Girls with silly crushes. Girls with childish dreams. Girls with a future.

Closing her eyes, she let her head fall back, her torrent of burnished golden hair heavy to her waist, brushing against Connors chest as she covered his hands with her own, and mimicked his movements. She felt stiff, awkward almost as she moved her hips, swaying them, and tried to relax her body.

"Kid, you need to check on the horses, they're not where you said you left them" Monroe's low voice pulled Charlie from her daydream, the one the music had wound around her, her fantasies of another life, where she went home to a mother and a father, where there were no secrets, no lies and her hands were not stained with blood.

"Now?" Conner asked impatiently, and Charlie bit her lip to hide her smile over his petulant tone. She glanced back to see Monroe glower down at his son a moment, before adding,

"Yes… now. We aren't here… for this… In case you've forgotten" he ground out, his eyes barely straying to her. Conner grumbled, and took his hands from her hips, and turning, striding out the bar.

In his wake, Charlie and Monroe watched him go, moving through the crowd. Charlie watched until he was out of sight, before turning back to the makeshift dance floor.

"Well, are you coming?" Monroe asked her suddenly, his voice gruff, and she glanced curiously up at him.

"I think I'll stick around a bit… who knows when I'll get the chance to… dance like this again… it's fun" she added lightly, seeing him finally turn to her, his head cocked to the side, his eyes finally meeting hers. His look was indecipherable, she thought as she watched him, noticing then the way his fists flexed at his side, his tension palpable. He had been strange to her since he had found Conner and her in the aftermath of their impulsive outdoor adventure.

Now, his blue eyes stared into hers, and she found no room for lightness of teasing there. His look was searching, searing, and she met it unflinchingly, as she always had.

"If I didn't know better, I'd think you were seriously trying to piss me off" he said, his eyes challenging her to disagree, baiting her.

"Don't be ridiculous... I don't think about you that much" she said softly, honestly, stepping closer to him as more people crowded around them, their bodies pressed together, the heat in the air between them thickening. She didn't add that she usually went out of her way in order not to think of him much, dark and jagged thoughts that left her confused and upset. He smiled a little sadly at that, his eyes continuing to watch her every move.

"I hope you know what your doing… with Conner" he said finally, stepping closer to her, though blue flickers of fire still staring down at her. She smiled a little, and shrugged.

"It doesn't matter, does it? Any of this... it's meaningless. We are all gonna be dead in a few months, if we are lucky" she said, and was surprised as she felt his rough calloused hands close around her shoulders. His face was close to hers now, so close, and she found it hard not to look at his stubbled jaw or the flash of white teeth when he spoke.

"Do you really think that?" he asked, his face taking on that fascinated look that it got whenever he was confronted with true fearlessness, or power. Much like the look he had given her when they first met, a look of admiration, or wonder, that someone could accept their fate so completely. She nodded slowly.

"Don't you?" she asked, raising an eyebrow at him. His eyes looked into hers a moment more, before moving across her face, as though she was a puzzle he longed to solve. He nodded slightly as his eyes continued their path down her neck, following the lines of her hair. As they were pressed closer together, he moved his hands from her shoulders to her hips, naturally adapting to the smaller space, and she felt her mouth go dry as her body came into contact with his. He finished his silent perusal, and looked back to her, his eyes crinkling in the corners as he spoke quietly, so quietly she wasn't sure whether she had imagined it or not.

"And Conner is who you want…" he breathed, and she felt her skin prickle up her arms, her whole body tingling for an instant, and saw his eyes trail over her exposed collarbones and throat, taking in every reaction of her body. The music washed over them, heady and throbbing, the singer's voice was raw and full of longing, the drums rhythmic, making her blood pound.

The heat of the room, the lack of air, pressed together in the candlelight was making her head light.

"What I want… is someone to teach me to dance… just like people used to, before the world fell apart…" she managed, proud her voice sounded so unaffected by the man standing before her. She felt Monroes' hands tighten on her hips a moment, as he opened his mouth to speak, she shook her head suddenly, quieting him.

"Just for tonight… I want to be the girl who dances… not the girl who runs... not the girl who kills" she whispered, and he frowned at her words, something like concern flitting through his eyes as he watched her intently.

Swallowing thickly, she eased around, turning her back to him, copying the couple next to them, who were swaying to the music in perfect sync. She pressed her back against him, and pulled his hands more firmly onto her hips, his fingers brushing the skin exposed between her shirt and low riding jeans.

"Charlie" his voiced sounded pained as she let her head fall back against his hard chest, and she slowly started to move against him, as she saw others doing.

"Please… just this once…" she replied, and held her breath as a long moment passed while he stood motionless.

Then, all of a sudden, his arm was wrapping around her middle, and she was bent backwards, her feet almost leaving the ground, as he pulled her against him, his jaw against her temple, she felt the beating of his heart in his chest.

And then they were dancing, his hands were moving over her waist, roaming her hips and brushing her hair from her neck, replacing it was the scratchy stubble of his jaw. She felt the world dip, and blur, before refocusing again. His body fitted against hers perfectly, and together they moved in unison, his strong hands directing her.

She found herself being turned, and then there was his face, just in front of her and she found it hard to look up from his tanned neck, yet it was hard to resist the pull of his gaze.

"I wish the world was better for you, Charlotte... I really do" he murmured, pulling her closer, so she was circled by his arms, her head locked into his gaze.

"Why do you call me Charlotte sometimes, and Charlie too?" she asked, almost breathless. A muscle in his jaw tensed and he took a deep breath, one she felt echo right through her, as the heat of his body seemed to burn through her shirt.

"Because, sometimes... I have to remind myself of who you are..." he said quietly, his eyes speaking volumes to her in silence.

She heard those words, and felt as though those dark and jagged dreams, those tangled and writhing thoughts she fought so hard to keep hidden, were spilling to the surface.

She pulled back, distanced herself a little, saw the open easiness of his face drop away, saw him start to think he had revealed too much, too soon, upset her, or worse, disgusted her. He closed in on himself, his arms crossed, his face hardened as he looked at her, waited for her scorn. She bit her lip as she considered his words, before surprising him by leaning in, placing her hands on his neck and gently pulling him toward her, only stopping when her lips were brushing against his ear.

"That's a shame... because sometimes... I wish you'd forget" she murmured, and without waiting for his response, her blood roaring in her ears, and cheeks flushing, she turned, and started through the crowd, sliding from his suddenly grasping hands, and demanding fingers. She could feel his shock, radiating behind her, feel his curiosity, as she slipped past the dancing bodies, and lust flushed couples.

She didn't look back.


	2. Time for a Trim

**Time for a trim **

**So, this was inspired in part by all the funny 'Bass needs a trim" stuff in the tag -taking place after the 2x15 - but when Aaron and Priscilla make it back to our main gang, and tell them all about the dream.**

"Oh my god… so much better" Aaron said, rolling his neck, stiff from sitting still for so long. He waited as Charlie dusted the tufts of hair she had shorn off his face, as he waited in paralysed stillness. He didn't think he was too cut up, thankfully, he thought as he got to his feet.

"Well, it's hardly a masterpiece, but you'll do" she said with a smile, that Charlie smile and he realised how much he had missed her.

After telling everyone about the Nanite virtual mind fuck, and the life his subconscious had created, no one had really know what to say. What can you say, when their lives were such living nightmares, when they all dreamed of better days, of easier, safer times. There was nothing to say, and so as they had drifted away from the campfire, lost in their musings, Charlie had approached, and offered to help him with the infestation on his face, as she'd put it.

And, strangely, it had helped, brought a tiny measure of normalcy. Because, even if they were here, in this broken world, in this wretched time… they were still themselves, and there were still some things they could control.

"Thanks Charlie. I feel a little more human… G'night" he said, as he saw Priscilla waiting for him by their bedrolls. She smiled back at him, and started to dust the hair to the ground. Taking her knife in her palm again, she grabbed a whetting stone, and slowly drew the blade against it, enjoying the smooth motion, the simple movement.

"Is there a line for the hair cuts… or what?" Monroe asked as he approached her in the half-light of the fire. She glanced up at him, her hand tightening a moment on the hilt of her blade, then continued it's sharpening motions. He stood near her, and when he didn't receive a response, he tapped her foot with his.

"Hey… what do you say?"

"It depends…" she said softly, without looking at him. He crouched down beside her.

"Depends on what?"

"If you're going to stop blaming me for the mercenaries. It was Duncan's choice, not mine." She said bluntly, looking him in the eye.

"Well, it was a dumb one" he said, and she rolled her eyes at him, standing up, and sheafing her knife.

"Right, and I suppose that opinion has nothing to do with your butt-hurt male pride, right?" she said, getting in his face a little, as he mirrored her actions. Her tone was teasing, but it was under laid with steal.

"What's this about, Charlie? You expect me to be happy that Duncan doesn't trust me… or gives the men to you, in front of my boy?" he asked, tilting his head, his blue eyes snapping at hers in the firelight.

They held that pose a moment, one of those moments that seconds seemed to spool out, turning into minutes, and years. Breaking the spell, uncomfortable with the heat rising between them, she sighed, and stepped back, turning to the chair Aaron had vacated.

"Well, are you gonna sit down or what?" she demanded, and waited as he deliberated a moment, his eyes still resting hotly on her, before throwing himself down in the chair.

She took her sharpened knife, and walked around behind him. When she was young, she had cut Danny's hair, and her own with scissors, which was a little easier than with a knife, but she was adapting. She started sheering off reckless curls, running her fingers through his hair. It was damp, as though he had just wet it, and her knife easily sliced through the springy waves. It was long. His head felt hard underneath her fingers, and she saw his shoulders drop a little, relax an inch as her strong fingers pulled and twisted locks of hair, brushed his tight scalp occasionally.

"When was the last time you cut this?" she asked with a hidden smile, as he shrugged his shoulders, uncaring, causing her knife to slip a touch, just nicking his ear. He flinched, clenching his fists on his lap.

"Jesus, Charlie" she heard him mutter under his breath, now more still, more careful. She smiled, biting her lip to hide it as she moved around to his face. He was glowering up at her, looking uncomfortable.

"So – head's done… I don't suppose you want me to do your face" she stated, surprised when he leaning forward, pulling the towel she had put around the back of his neck, forward and tucking it into his shirt at the front.

"Actually… it's harder than it looks to shave without a mirror… so, just do it" he muttered, avoiding her gaze as she crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes at him. The silence between them played out, and finally he looked up at her.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" he demanded, almost flinching back as she leaned forward slightly.

"Why don't you get Connor to do it?"

"Because, I've seen him with a knife, it's not something I'd like to repeat with my neck as the chopping board." He said with a scowl.

She contemplated that a moment, before surprising him by gently pushing his thighs apart. He looked down in confusion, before seeing her settling into a kneeling position between them. She wasn't quite touching him, only her long hair, brushing the tops of his thighs, but with was enough to make his chest feel tight, and uncomfortably warm.

"If I didn't know better, I'd think you were complimenting me" she mused as she rubbed a dry looking bar of soap between her fingers, wetting them from a nearby bucket, before looking back up at his face, and directing his chin one way, then the other, smearing the acidic white foam on his chin and cheeks.

He just watched her, appreciating this chance to frankly observe her, to have this chance simply to look at her. The crease between her eyes, the fullness of her lips, the frank blueness of her eyes.

The knife scraped insistently over his face, but it never slipped. It wouldn't, because that was Charlie. Exacting and fearless… skilled and so much stronger than she knew. She wasn't being particularly gentle with him, but then, she wouldn't. Charlie wasn't soft with anyone, especially not him.

Her eyes were fixed in her task, her look, one of concentration, and unknowingly, she was biting her lip. He found his eyes drawn to it, for far too long, and before he knew it, the scraping had stopped, and he found her eyes on him. He swallowed awkwardly, wondering how long she had been aware of his rapt attention on her lips.

He wondered for a moment if his expression had matched the feeling in his chest. Hunger.

She sank slowly back on her heels, still watching him carefully, her knife in her hand.

"I was… complimenting you. You saved our lives in New Vegas, without help and I have no doubt you can manage those men… and if they give you any trouble… well, you're not alone Charlotte." He said, meeting her curious eyes, his voice honest.

She tilted her head, thinking over his words, before smiling.

It was just a little thing, small, unimportant, but he tucked it away for future consideration.

He had made her smile. She was happy to be complimented by him.

It wasn't much, but it was something.

She was standing now, her slim body still filling the space between his thighs as she pulled the towel from around his neck, and threw it against his chest carelessly.

"Good to know. Clean yourself up, you look like hell" she shot over her shoulder as she sauntered away, cleaning her knife against her thigh, the blade flashing in the darkness.


	3. Something to live for

**Set after Austin City Limits, and based on promo, sort of... Charloe. **

* * *

Charlie swayed through the slender tree trunks of the scrappy forest she had found herself in, watching the way the moon sliced shadows of midnight with their trunks, black against the whitewashed ground.

She had drunk too much, she realised, stumbling a little, uncaring. What did it matter anyway? What did any of it matter. So what if she got wasted, alone and hopeless, in a run down bar in the back of beyond, while her uncle slept around his campfire with his men.

Would they ever get back to Willoughby? She wondered, accidentally shouldering a tree, and staggering back a little, before leaning forward and forging on. She was dreading seeing her mother's face. She didn't want to share, she didn't want to have a mother daughter heart to heart and cry about having to kill her ex-boyfriend.

Because he had never really been a boyfriend, and they had never really stood a chance, and Rachel had never really known him, and she would just say all the wrong things and make it worse. No, he had never really been her boyfriend, but she had loved him, or she thought she had then, and she had cared about him, and… she had killed him.

A snapping twig underfoot brought her up short, as she heard the click of a gun being cocked. She swallowed heavily, feeling her senses shot to alarm, sluggish and slow.

"Hands up, where I can see them" a voice warned, and she slowly complied, turning around. Tom Neville was standing before her, his gun in hand, pointed right at her chest. He was staring at her wildly, his eyes bloodshot, unshaven. He looked like a man on the edge. She could understand, she realised as she waited for him to speak. She was becoming fairly familiar with the edge herself.

"Where is my son?" Tom demanded, and Charlie stared at him, her eyes close to that familiar sting of tears again.

She couldn't speak. Jason had died in her arms, and taken all her words, all her breath with him. He had taken the little light that remained in her world, and snuffed it out, and she wondered how long it took a body to stop moving, even after it has died, and wondered when hers would too.

"Tell me girl, or I swear to god, I'll put a bullet between your eyes" Tom spat, stepping closer with the gun.

She felt he world slow in that moment, the moonlight heighten, her heart beat more purely. This was it, she wasn't going to lie. She would absolve herself of her sins, and be free. She stepped closer, a tear already running down her cheek.

"He's dead… he's dead, and I killed him." She whisper, a harsh sob stealing her last words. Tom's face tightened, a death mask of shock and pain. His hand gripped his gun, as he slammed forward, against her. She felt a tree hit her back, and her breath fly out of her as sobs stared to gather, untameable in her chest.

"You are lying…" he whispered, menacing, his mouth by her ear, his gun to her temple, the tree hard against her back. She spat out a hard sob, a cough, a cry, ugly and inhuman. She was shaking her head without realising it, and as Tom leaned away, he searched her face.

"Tell me you're lying" he demanded, his eyes tracking her tears, the hopelessness of her eyes, his tone lacking urgency, pleading with her almost.

"I can't" she whispered, caving in, air sucking out. She leaned against him, as he took the news rigidly, his eyes fixed somewhere over her shoulder. She cried, let her tears fall on his shoulder, and he let her, strangely connected, enemies who share something, united by a grief so sudden and unwanted. She felt when he collected himself, when the Neville mask fell back into place, as it was accompanied by the cool feel of steel at her temple. She drew in a shuddering breath as he slowly pushed her head back against the tree, using the gun. She was confronted by a father who has just lost a son, and his look tore into her anew.

"You killed my boy?" he shouted roughly, and she nodded, her eyes caught in his.

"_You_ killed my boy? Do you even know what he felt for you?" Tom demanded, sending a fresh wave of tears cascading down her cheeks.

"I'm…I'm so sorry…" she breathed, speaking made impossible by the sobs in her chest.

"Oh, you're sorry" Tom barked, his face twisted in a manic look of glee, horrifying in itself.

"You think it's something that can be forgiven?" he asked, driving her head back against the tree hard again. She slowly shook her head, her eyes once again caught in his.

"No… It can't be. I know… I can't… I don't want to be forgiven" she breathed, and without pausing to think, she reached her hand for his, and even as he tensed against her attack, her fingers pressed his gun harder into her temple. He frowned at her, unsure of her meaning.

"Do it.. just do it… for Jason. Do it for Jason" she breathed, squeezing her eyes shut, taking a deep breath. Tome grabbed her shoulder, and brought the gun around to her forehead, pressing it in there, as his eyes burned into hers. The moment seemed to drawn out, and she felt like she could count her heartbeats. She thought it would hurt more, preparing to die, and knowing that death was imminent. But it didn't hurt, in fact, it was a relief.

She wished she could see her mom, tell her that she loved her, and she always had, no matter what had happened between them. Tell Aaron how much she admired him, and how much she'd miss him. She wished she could warn Conner, not to change too much, and not to forget the man his mother had made him. She wished she could tell his crazy father that she had forgiven him, that he had come to mean more to her than she could ever let him know, and she thought a whole more about him than she should. She wished she could tell Miles that being with him, had made her feel like her father had been watching over her, and that she wanted him to be with Rachel and for them to be happy.

Mostly she wished the world would get better for the people she was leaving behind, wished them happiness, and safety, and love.

She took that last breath, and nodded, and waited…. And waited.

"Drop it Tom. Drop it now" Monroe's voice was cold as it called to them, jarring them from the world they had gone to, created for the two of them, and the memory of him, joined by loss and vengeance.

Eventually, her heart strangely calm now, she opened her eyes, and saw Tom still before her, his strong face crumpled.

"I failed my boy ever day of his miserable life. His curse was having me as a father… he was better than I deserved, and I destroyed him, wore him down, burnt him out. I never did a damn thing worth mentioning for that kid… nothing he ever asked me to, anyway… " He was muttering, and suddenly surprised her by lifting his gun away.

"Neville, I will shoot, drop it" Monroe was closer now, she could see him circling around behind Tom, his eyes intent on the back of his former Major's head, his strong arms taut with tension as they held his handgun out, unwavering.

"But, he did once ask me to spare you… and – I'm gonna keep that promise. Not for you. For my boy." Tom said, seeming to barely notice Monroe, standing back, finally letting her body fall forward, and she sagged forward. There was the sound of a struggle, and she pushed herself up.

She saw Monroe trying to get hold of the older man, and started forward.

"Let him go… just – let him go" Monroe had Neville in a choke hold now, his gun on the floor, and was now focused on him, his eyes wearing his most intense look yet. Monroe the serial killer.

"Stop it! Just let him go" she cried, coming to them and pulling at his arm, which barely moved.

"He tried to kill you!" Monroe snarled, looking over at her, his eyes feral, his lip vicious as it curled over his teeth. She knew the look, he wanted blood.

"But he didn't. Just stop it" she reasoned again, and then dropped down and picked up Tom's fallen gun as Monroe refused to budge. She brought it up and pointed it at his head. He didn't noticed, so absorbed was he in choking the life out of the man in his arms.

"Sebastian Monroe, if you don't stop it now… I'll shoot" she said, punctuating her threat with a loud click of the gun, readying it to fire. He turned to look at her in shock, and Neville took advantage of the moment, elbowing him in the gut. Monroe bent over, wheezing, and Neville took off, running into the night, without a backward glance.

Charlie dropped the gun to the ground and watched Monroe gathering himself.

"What the hell?" he growled as his blue eyes flashed up at her. She shrugged and turned away from him, starting back in the direction she had been heading.

"Charlie… what the hell is going on?" he was demanding, appearing at her side.

"Nothing."

"That wasn't nothing… he almost shot you, and you almost let him." Monroe pulled her roughly to a stop. They stood quietly like that, as she avoided his eyes and his chased hers.

"Well, he didn't."

"No thanks to you…"

"Whatever"

"No, not whatever… do you have a death wish Charlotte? Is that what this is?" he asked angrily.

"You don't understand –"

"Like hell I don't."

"Why do you care?" she suddenly asked, looking up at him. He was silent a long moment, before speaking carefully.

"What do you think dying is going to do to Miles? Or your mom? Do you want to put them through that? You're being selfish" he said calmly, and his questions sent a shoot of hot frustration through her. She brushed his arm off hers, and started walking.

"Hey, I'm talking to you" Monroe exclaimed angrily behind her, reaching out and pulling her to a stop. She jerked away and kept walking, changing direction as he started after her. He followed her a moment, before throwing his hands up in frustration and grabbing hold of her, his strong hands steel bands on her wrists.

"Charlie… talk to me" he said, leaning down, trying to see her face, hidden behind her curtain of hair. She shook her head silently, hiding her eyes, which felt once again like spilling over. He sighed and stood there, holding her still, seeming unsure of what to say. Finally, she felt the sadness in her chest start to leak out, like a slow seeping gunshot wound, dripping down her chest and onto the floor, stealing her life force with it. Her shoulders started to shake, and then, unable to prevent it, a stray sob escaped. Monroe tensed, realising what was happening.

"It's alright, just… let it go… get it out" he murmured, as he suddenly pulled her closer, into the cage of his arms, and tucked her face tight against his chest, resting his chin on top of it, his hands stroking long circles down her back.

And she did. She cried, and let that emptiness, placed there by him, for him, in his memory, bleed out. She cried for how hopeless her life was, she cried for everyone she had lost, and she cried for the piece of herself she had lost, in an abandoned office in Austin, never to be found.

"He never would have wanted to hurt you Charlotte… you had no choice, and he'd have been the first to agree" he was saying, and she leant away, and looked up into his face, so close now.

"Well, maybe I don't want to live in a world where those are the choices… maybe I can't anymore… I can't lose anyone else… I can't survive it" she whispered, meeting his blue eyes, as they stared down on her tear-streaked face.

"You have to …you can't give up… people depend on you… people need you…I know what loss is Charlie, and it never goes away… so, you need something to think of everyday… think of the people who need you"

"Who do you think of?"

"Connor… Miles… and you" he said the last quietly, so quietly, she was sure she'd imagined it for a moment.

"Why me?"

"To help me remember… to remind me of what I'm fighting for, who I'm fighting to give a better life to" she sighed, leaning into his arms as he finished speaking, still caught by his mesmerising stare. In that long moment, something shifted between them. Suddenly, she was aware of his arms around her, his hands on the small of her back, rough fingers glancing the band of bare skin there. His face was suddenly so close, she could barely take it all in. And his eyes, those eyes that always seemed aware of her, that never missed anything, they had dropped to her lips, and now lingered there, with a look of longing, impossible to ignore.

She knew that allowing her own eyes to drop to his own mouth, that would be the end of it, the end of their unspoken resolve not to make things more complicated than it should be, the end of their mutual denial.

"We should get back" she said suddenly, and saw the look of disappointment flash over his features, so fleeting it was almost indistinguishable. He stepped back, and offered her a hand when she swayed a little. Together they walked in silence toward the camp, the close call heavy in both their minds.

"What are you even doing out here anyway?"

"Looking for you, naturally" he replied easily enough. They walked on, the long grass swishing around their legs, the insects their orchestra as they neared the camp.

"Thanks" she said suddenly, glancing over at him. He gave her a lopsided grin, watching her approach her mother, sleeping around the campfire. It was the first time she'd ever thanked him for saving her life, he thought wryly as he followed her into camp.

It wasn't much, but maybe it was a start.


End file.
